


now air is hushed

by honeychurches



Category: Poldark (TV 2015), Poldark - All Media Types
Genre: Carolight Fic Week, F/M, Goodbyes, Loss, One Shot, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-25
Updated: 2017-04-25
Packaged: 2018-10-23 23:52:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10729899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honeychurches/pseuds/honeychurches
Summary: set during 2x10 in dwight’s room. caroline gives dwight a parting gift (inspired bytheblackmoon).The late afternoon rays strain to reach the furthest corners of the room. She watches the light begin to ebb, watches as the colour leaks out of the little seascape on the wall. The grey clouds that were ominously gathering in the far corner now sweep through the painting until the pretty pale blue sky is drowned. The little ship’s hull disappears into the swelling waves and the crisp sails, once cheerfully billowing in the breeze, suddenly seem frail.She closes her eyes and wills for time to stop.





	now air is hushed

The late afternoon rays strain to reach the furthest corners of the room. She watches the light begin to ebb, watches as the colour leaks out of the little seascape on the wall. The grey clouds that were ominously gathering in the far corner now sweep through the painting until the pretty pale blue sky is drowned. The little ship’s hull disappears into the swelling waves and the crisp sails, once cheerfully billowing in the breeze, suddenly seem frail.

She closes her eyes and wills for time to stop. She holds her breath, just for a moment. But outside she can still hear the shrill calls of the gulls. From beneath their window comes the sound of sailors calling to each other across the street, enjoying their last night of freedom. His heartbeat is steady beneath her ear. Despite her efforts, the shadows reach through her eyelids. She imagines dark fingers stretching, reaching, wrapping themselves around Dwight and tearing him away. She tightens her arm around his chest and feels him shift beneath her.

When she opens her eyes she finds they have been swallowed by darkness. At once she recalls the words from one of her governess’ ghastly poems; over effusive poets who seemed to be rather too in love with nature. She remembers the gentle goddess of Night bringing a close to the day;  _the dewy fingers draw the gradual dusky veil_. But Night to her now is only smothering and smug. Their time is running out.

Her pearls are warm against her chest but still she shivers. He takes her hand again, remarks how cold it is. Her hands are always cold; she used to say it was because she had no heart and her uncle would sigh in exasperation.

She doesn’t consider herself to be an overly sentimental woman. She’s usually pragmatic and she knows in her heart that she doesn’t even need the ring he’s given her; knows his love and devotion without it. But she suddenly feels desperate to leave him with  _something_ , a piece of her that he can hold out at sea. If she could just do that, if she could be with him in some small way, perhaps everything would be alright.

‘Well, Dr. Enys, I have your ring.’ She feels the thin leather strap against her finger, touches the knot at its centre. She has many glittering jewels amongst her collection, blood rubies and deep sea sapphires, but she wouldn’t trade that ring for anything. ‘What shall you have of me?’

‘I already have  _you_ , my darling. How could I possibly want for anything else?’

‘Oh, but you must. There has to be something you can take. I really think you’ll forget my face otherwise.’

She says it flippantly but can’t keep the underlying fear from reaching up her throat, pressing into her mouth. She sees his shape move in the dark as he shifts to hover over her. He leans down and kisses first her forehead, then her eyelids, then her cheek. His lips meet hers and she feels her breath catch. Their foreheads touch and she cannot see him but senses his smile.

‘Did I forget your face over these months? I never could.’

He lays down again and takes her curls between his fingers; her hair must be a mess at this point, the soft golden strands falling onto her shoulders.

_Now air is hushed…_

The thought comes to her suddenly and brilliantly. She rolls to her side and places her feet on the cool floorboards. The rough wood pulls against her stockings as she shuffles towards the window, shining faintly now from the light of the dim lanterns below. She finds her cloak, wrapping it around her now shivering shoulders. She feels blindly for the small oak table, her heavy hands blundering through thin air until they suddenly land on the rough surface.

‘Caroline?’

‘Shh, just wait.’

Her fingers search until they find what they are looking for. She grasps the candle and edges her way towards the door, feeling for the handle. Outside, she holds it up to the hallway lantern, carefully lighting the wick and shielding the weak flame with her hand.

Once inside, the light dances on the walls. Shadows from the carved bedposts travel the floorboards, the black borders dividing the once-whole room.

_‘Midst the twilight path…_

She makes her way back over to the table, fixing the candle in the heavy brass holder. Finding her reticule, she searches for the object she has carried with her since childhood. The cool glass brushes against her fingers as she closes her hand around a large, oval shape.

Dwight stares curiously. She lays back on the bed, resting her head again against his chest. His arms reach around her as she holds the locket up to the light. The oval glass shines, momentarily obscuring the miniature within. He strokes her hair, waiting for her to explain.

‘Uncle Ray gave this to me when I was ten. Such an ugly piece, I’ve never worn it, not even when I was young. But I always have it on me. Near to me, that is.’

A porcelain face swims in a sea of deep green. She runs her fingers over the smooth surface before circling the grooved edges, the action familiar and comforting. He watches her, observes the gentleness in her movements and the slight furrow in her brow.

‘This was my mother.’

His hand pauses against her head as he takes this in.

‘She was very beautiful.’

Caroline doesn’t reply. She stares at the blue eyes, so familiar to her and yet completely unknown. Her golden hair hangs in tight curls, brushing the tops of her bare shoulders. A gold pendant sits in the hollow of her throat. She’s never even attempted to open it before but now she unfastens the latch and, with slightly shaking fingers, carefully lifts out the painting.

‘I’m giving it to you.’

‘Oh Caroline-‘

‘I insist. I have your token and now you must have mine.’

‘Caroline, you can’t give this to me. Your family-

‘ _You_ are my family now. You are my life.’

His heart races as she kisses him for the first time, touching her hand to his cheek. She sits up gently and rises from the bed again, moving across the room to his supplies. He watches with bemusement as she rummages through his possessions, pulling out a quill, ink and parchment. She continues looking, becoming increasingly frustrated with each obscure, indecipherable instrument she discovers. Finally he gets up and laughingly fishes out the little pair of scissors she’s looking for.

She curls a lock of hair around her finger, pulling it straight before carefully snipping it. Her hair is so precious to him; he wishes they had more time, wishes he could take her pins out and tenderly unwind each curl. His heart overflows with love as he watches her gently place the golden threads inside the locket. She takes up his quill now, to write him a small message of her love, and he finds he has to turn away. The shadows against the walls have lengthened again, their fingers reaching for the painted ship, ready to pluck it from the swelling waves. Their time has run out.

He dresses as she writes, pulling on his coat and shoes and tidying his hair. She seals the treasures inside the glass case and looks up, holding in her gasp when she sees him. She knows they are parting, knows they are both readying to say goodbye, knows this has to happen and as the moment draws nearer it becomes more devastating. She runs her eyes over his uniform, desperate for a distraction from the pain that’s seizing her heart.

‘Well, my love, I don’t know what the Navy will say when they see you in that coat. Buttons that need shining and a stray thread, you can’t possibly defeat the French like that!’ she teases, but her voice is small and uncertain.

He smiles sadly as she moves towards him, brushing some imaginary lint off his shoulders. She fastens the locket around his neck, undoing his shirt buttons and placing it inside, above his heart. She kisses him there, and lays her hands on his chest, warming them against his bare skin.

‘Now I am with you wherever you go.’

He places his hands over hers, pressing them closer to his heart.

‘I’m glad.’

 

**Author's Note:**

>  **A/N:**  
>  I haven’t written fic since I was 16 (one incomplete HP in '03, those halcyon days) so I’m so sorry if this is rubbish. I have no idea what I’m doing, I just felt like writing it.
> 
> This was inspired by Dwight’s letter to Caroline in  _The Black Moon_ , where he mentions that the locket she gave him is always warm against his heart (sob!). I’ve combined that with the added scene from episode 10 where Caroline goes back to his room. I still don’t know how to feel about that. I love them but I’m not sold on the idea of pre-marital sex (I think the risks would have been far too great for her). I left this deliberately ambiguous, so you can read this as post-coital or simply intense, fully clothed cuddling.
> 
> The painting is  _East Indiamen in a Gale_ by Charles Brooking (1759).
> 
> The locket was based, among others, on [this piece.](https://au.pinterest.com/pin/316237205061255201/)
> 
> The poem that’s referred to throughout is  _Ode to Evening_ by William Collins (1746).


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